Meeting the Parents!

I guess anyone would understand how I could be nervous meeting my wife's parents for the first time.  First of all, that is a huge leap from girlfriend isn't it?  Not dating or courting...not going steady and wearing my class ring...not even engaged............we're MARRIED!  Now don't get me wrong, I think Kristen and I are perfect for each other, and not just in some ways...in every way.  We were born to be together.  We are so alike in so many ways, yet different enough to truly complement one another.  As absurd as it may sound, we literally are finishing each other sentences.  It's actually a bit scary.

Back to the impending meeting...I have been told by everybody, and I do mean everybody, that Kristen's parents are absolutely charming, genuinely kind-hearted, and all-around great people.  And of course, I believe that.  Look at their daughter...I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.  Only two inspired beings could have raised such a wonderful person.  (But enough about K, I know you are beginning to feel nauseous).  So just because her parents are amazing and super nice, does not mean that I am not nervous about impressing them.  What if I say the wrong thing? What if I embarrass myself?  What if I am too quiet?  Kristen has already had to assure several people that I like them perfectly fine and that I am just a bit quiet when I first meet someone.  I am a little worried that I won't know what to say.  I feel as though I am very introspective when I meet someone new.  I am analyzing every detail and just taking it all in.

Kristen wants me to show off my tricks...let her mom watch me paint...teach her nephews how to play the drums or give them a karate lesson...maybe juggle some eggs fresh out of the fridge.  I don't know about all of that...I just picture myself in a jester's suit, pointy shoes and all!  I guess I do have some fun things to share, but I am just hoping that everyone is patient with my personality...give me time to shine!

Tortured Artist?

Kristen and I were talking and she asked me if I had to choose between art, music, or writing (all of which I love), what would be my decision.  It didn't really take me all that long to think about it.  My mind was quite quick to weigh out my options and decide.  "Art," I said, "because I know who I am as a writer, and I know who I am as a musician.  But my artwork will last me a lifetime."

I've been thinking about that conversation ever since.  I know I could be a better musician, more dedicated to practicing and more driven to perform.  And writing...well I have been blogging about that as of late.  I know I want to do more with that as well.  But if I had to choose one of my passions to sustain me, it would have to be art.  I know that I am still developing...will always be developing as an artist.  I look at my early work and then at my current collection and I wonder how I got here.  It has been a magical journey...some pieces were a true struggle to create...some of them poured out like water.  All of them took on a life of their own.  I look around the room and I feel like I am looking at my children.  I created them, yet they have their own personality. 

I can honestly say that I am intrigued by what I might create next.  All of the images I have in my head dance around and try to shuffle their way out, pushing their way forward to the front of the line and anxiously wait for my conscious mind to pick them next.  Sometimes it feels like a filing cabinet without any files to keep things organized.  I admit it can be a mess!  But this fabulous chaos fuels me.  I often can't wait to pick up a brush...sometimes don't know where to begin...most times don't know where it will end, but always know I will enjoy the ride! 

Univited and PROUD of it!

Do you remember when you were a kid and you didn't get invited to some event?  Perhaps that snotty, red-haired girl was having a pool party and all of your friends were going, but somehow you never received an invitation.  Or maybe your buddies from the soccer team decided to hang out after the big win over your school's rivals and they forgot to mention that to you.  Even as an adult, have you felt left out?

Since coming out to my family, I have been very, very surprised with their reactions.  For the most part, I have had nothing but support.  In fact, one of my brothers in particular has really made me feel more than welcome into his home, having me over for dinner on several occasions since my "coming out party."  He calls me now and again, and probably we are closer than we were before he knew about my life.  In contrast to that, one of my siblings has cut me out of their world.  Another brother (I will refer to him as M), never speaks to me anymore.  He was the one that I thought was the most forward-thinking and conscientious.  I thought at first that his initial reaction was a fluke and that things would get better, but I have tried to contact him three or four times and he never returns my calls. 

About a year ago I found out that his then seventeen year old daughter is also gay.  Needless to say, his reaction was very poor and for a while he had actually kicked her out of his house (shame on him).  I heard that they somewhat reconciled and she ended up back home for her senior year of high school.  Which brings me to the subject of this blog...my niece just graduated...at the top of her class, I might add...and I wasn't invited to her commencement ceremony. 

There is a huge part of me that feels really bad about it, but not for myself of course, but for my niece.  But there is also a very determined part of me that refuses to be affected by M's ignorance.  I truly feel that my absence from his life is his loss.  He has no idea who I am, he has never seen any of my artwork or heard me play with the PSO...he has never met my beautiful and brilliant wife or seen they way she makes me smile...he has no idea that I am proud of who I have become.

What's the Bright Idea?

So, I have finally done it...started writing a little each day on a story idea that I have had banging around in my head for years.  It seems a bit overwhelming...the thought of writing a novel, and perhaps even sounds somewhat pretentious.  Me...writing a novel?  But I did go to school for that very reason!

I'll keep you posted on the progress, but as it stands now I feel pretty good about my start. 

Well, I have to go for now...no more time to waste blogging about writing!

Write, Right?

Since this whole blogging thing is pretty new to me, I often sit at the computer and stare at the screen wondering what I should write.  I tend to start writing about something that happened in my life, but then I think that it is too mundane, or perhaps to personal to share.  I really have lots of subject matter and plenty to say, but I guess I am censoring myself.  I wonder why this is such a struggle?

My life is pretty captivating!  First and foremost, I have a gorgeous new wife...we live on the water where I wake to an inspirational scene every morning, and I have great lighting and space to do my work.  I have been very fortunate and blessed...traveled to lots of beautiful places, met some very interesting people, and I have a list of great friends.  I am also interested in many different activities...music, karate, art, reading, and.............WRITING.  So I just wonder why it is that I am trying this blogging thing and not actually writing that novel that I had always planned on?!?  I guess I just don't want to give up an opportunity to write when it is something that I should have been doing all along.  Finally, it seems, I am going to get to a disciplined place in my life where I write every day.  Shouldn't I be using this precious time to crank out some short stories or a great horror novel?  I'm asking you, my friends...what do you think?

It's in the Bag!

So, I think it is pretty obvious that we all have our little quirks.  Some people like to keep lists, perform chores in a certain order, or just do things in a particular manner.  I read about a man who carried around a ruler in order to write perfectly straight letters with flat bottoms.  According to the story, he wouldn't even sign his name without it.  For another example, my mom has a very specific way that she likes to load the dishwasher.  While growing up she would often "reload" the dishes that I had put in because they weren't in the proper spaces.  Needless to say, I didn't find much purpose in completing this chore when she was going to come directly behind me and redo it.

There are a few people that know this particular quirk that I have.  Mine involves trash bags, and even thinking about it makes me smile.  I have this thing about getting to the last bag in the box of trash bags.  It really just makes my day to see this event coming, and I was inspired to write this morning because I think tomorrow I will be experiencing this...I noticed that we are going to use the last bag very soon.  So, here it is...the last trash bag represents a form of cannibalism, or perhaps more accurately, matricide.  What about self-deprecation?  After all, that would be trashing one's self!  The last trash bag...you take the bag out of the box...and put the box into the bag.  Doesn't that just make you smile?

Just Call Me Crash

So yesterday marked the final performance for the Portsmouth Symphony Orchestra for this season.  Overall, I think that the concert went very well...a few squeaky chairs, some uncooperative stand lights, and of course, the occasional missed note.

Since we have been missing our normal conductor (please note...that was to be the subject of my last entry), it has been a regular occurrence to have a few curve balls thrown our way at rehearsal.  So it was not a huge surprise when I was asked to play a brand new part five minutes before we went on stage because apparently no one had been assigned to it.  Not a big deal...a few cymbal rolls...I could handle it.

Now nerves are not usually an issue for me when I perform since I have been playing for almost as long as I could hold sticks, but I felt a little anxious about the new part.  And also I had some friends in the audience who were seeing me play for the first time (just add them to the multitude of adoring fans I already have).  So I was thinking about this new part while the concert moved along...one piece completed, then another...I knew that I would be sight-reading soon.  So I was trying to concentrate on everything else that I had to keep track of...snare drum and  music...CHECK...soft-yarn mallets....CHECK...crash cymbals within reach...CHECK...woodblock and drumsticks...CHECK...suspended cymbal....CHECK.  We were nearing the end of the concert...three more movements to complete "The Planets."  Jupiter was in order, and again, this was another very new part for me...assigned the day before, but I felt confident that I had at least practiced it with the orchestra.  So everything was going along fine...the end was approaching and the final few bars were rushing towards us...the tempo became presto...a quick ending was in store, but something sounded different...the bells were in the wrong spot, the bass drum missed an entrance, and I suddenly realized that I wasn't counting measures anymore.  Oh, such panic.......and then the movement was over...no sudden rush, no dramatic ending, and no crash cymbal.     :(

Thanks to Alison, Lisa, and Kim for coming out to the show.  And Kristen...thanks for everything you've done to support my dreams.    

You Guest It!

Mom and Dad...and Farm Raised???

So, those of you who know me realize that I very recently got married.  And although I'm sure you are all quite sick of the mushy love crap, the title of this blog was in fact, inpired by my one and only.
(I know, let the gagging begin). 

It all began with Kristen letting me know how adorable I am.  And yes, I do understand that I am quite the looker, but she tells me constantly how cute I am.  So this one morning she asked me how I had become so cute, and my response...yes, you guessed it...was the above title.  Now, let's be clear...my parents did play a role in the cuteness (hats off to genetics please), but there was no farm involved...no farm animals either.  Just my little dog pictured here with me.

So that's the story, simple and quirky, and sure to make my wife smile every time I say it.   :)